


Two Roads

by TuppingLiberty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Kate Argent, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Get together fic, Kink Scene, M/M, PI!Derek, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Subdrop, dom!stiles, kink club, librarian!Stiles, smut in the second chapter, sub!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: After being initially shocked by the appearance of his First Words on his 18th birthday, Stiles happily dives deep into the kink community and finds a home there while possibly searching for his soulmate.





	1. Chapter 1

He’s already playing with a fidget toy in one hand, but Stiles can’t keep his other hand from tapping a beat on his leg as he watches YouTube and waits anxiously for midnight. 

If you’d asked him two days ago, he would have said that the Words aren’t important. That finding your soulmate is so rare anyway and most of the First Words are just such completely innocuous phrases like “hello” or “Would you like fries with that?” that it’s almost impossible to narrow down the candidates. You still have to, you know, figure out if you actually like your soulmate, platonically or romantically or whatever. Just because fate’s doing it’s part to help doesn’t mean everything ends up happily ever after. It’s possible for your soulmate to die before ever delivering the words to you. Or you could be doomed to roam the earth, searching the eyes of every fast food employee that offers you fries. Or you could just forget about it and live your life like normal.

And you don’t need a soulmate to be happy, anyway. His mom and dad hadn’t been, and look how that turned out. And sure, maybe somewhere among the 7 billion other people their soulmates are lonely as fuck, but more than likely they’re making a go of it. Or better, getting married and having the 2.5 and the white picket fence. Or, you know, ending up with a Stiles and frontotemporal dementia. 

As always, thinking of his mom gives him a sad little pang, and he bends a knee up, hugging it to his chest. 

So yeah, he hadn’t planned on anything like a First Words ceremony or reveal party or hell, even staying up to midnight on the day of his eighteenth birthday to watch them appear. They’d be a nice surprise for morning, and hopefully they wouldn’t be as embarrassing as Scott’s “Hey, asshole!" Although he had totally deserved that after hitting Allison’s car in the parking lot on her first day of school. 

Anyway, he hadn’t planned on staying up, but then he had lost track of time getting through calc homework, and then he hadn’t been able to sleep, and then it had been 11:55 and he’d given up the pretense of trying to fall asleep and had sat up in bed, playing with his fidget toy and watching YouTube videos. 

The words are going to appear on his left forearm, assuming he has one, which, despite his childhood hijinks, he does. Crazy stuff, fate magic. Stiles had once watched a ten hour Netflix documentary on how amputation and unformed limbs affected the Words. And had then spent the next three weeks ignoring all school work and researching that instead. Only a parent-teacher conference with his dad and mentions of “grief counselor” and “healthier coping mechanisms” had pulled him back. He could deal, and his dad didn’t need more stress. 

His dad bought him a beautiful leather bracer for his birthday present. Gave it to him yesterday. So it’s waiting, especially if the words are not something he wants the general public to see. People rarely go without their bracers anyway; the words are private, the human heart far too vulnerable and easily manipulated to really be open to sharing them with the world. Nearly everyone, from celebrities to politicians to his teachers and neighbors wear bracers of various fashions daily. 

Those who don’t have generally either already found their mate, or are just the type that don’t care. 

Stiles had always figured he’d be one of the latter, but as the seconds tick down to midnight, and the nerves pile up in his stomach, the bracer seems like a comfort he’s definitely going to indulge in. 

His phone pings the hour, and as he watches, the words scroll over his left forearm in a steady script of blocky capital letters, as if his soulmate has taken his arm and is writing across it in Sharpie.  

_ What’s your safe word? _

Stiles frowns. “Huh,” he says aloud into the quiet of his room. 

 

The handwriting seems to offer no clues, but he knew it wouldn't anyway. Stiles has read the research papers of a dozen studies on First Words and handwriting analysis, mostly because he'd needed to prove Scott wrong and get him to unstick his head from his ass and recognize Allison as his soulmate. Fate magic is tricky and unpredictable that way; well, the scientists all couch it in different terms that eventually boil down to “tricky and unpredictable.” It's sent more than its fair share of scientists crying back to easier fields, like nuclear chemistry or astrophysics. So no, the handwriting doesn't capture his attention. 

It’s the content that has him pulling over his laptop and going into deep “Stiles mode” as Scott like to calls it. 

So maybe he never really did get rid of that unhealthy coping mechanism. Maybe he just got better about doing his schoolwork adequately enough to cover for the fact that he wasn’t sleeping at night but diving headlong into some obscure rabbithole of research. 

He’s fairly sure the context is sexual, right? But where would one greet another person with the phrase “What’s your safe word?” Seems kind of personal. Seems like someone would ask “What’s your name?” or “Do you want to have sex?” first, you know. 

Without a second glance at the glaring red numbers on his clock, he dives facefirst into all the internet has to offer re: safe words. 

Several hours later, he sets his laptop aside, buries himself under his covers, and touches his aching cock. Because Jesus Christ. 

He still has a ton of research to do, some of which is going to happen in person, just as soon as he can come up with a valid excuse to give everyone for a weekend in San Francisco by himself. Or maybe he can convince Lydia to come with him. He’s already shot off a few texts, but she hasn’t replied yet. Beauty sleep and all that. 

He wraps his hand around his dick, shuddering at finally giving in to the growing desire that has been revving inside him since the first few clicks. His laptop is still open to an image of someone, bound and gagged, staring up into the camera from their kneeling position. Stiles finds the idea of control appealing. So little of life can be controlled - your family, your background, your soulmate. This, though. 

It’s a quickie. He doesn’t even have time to fondle his balls or play with his ass. A few strokes and he’s coming into a kleenex, groaning quietly so as not to wake his dad. He shuts the laptop and sets it on the floor, finally letting his eyes close for an hour of sleep before his alarm wakes him up. 

 

“What’s your safe word?” 

Stiles looks up from his glass of water at the man who’s seated himself on the bar stool next to him. He’s cute, so Stiles offers a smile. It takes less than a second to size him up and determine that the man is probably looking for a sub. Still, that doesn’t preclude him from being Stiles’ soulmate. He did say the magic words after all. 

It just so happens that, over the years, Stiles has managed to maneuver himself into a position where hearing his First Words isn’t that much of a shock anymore. And none of them have been The One yet. But this guy looks nice enough, so Stiles gives a little nod. 

“Kitsune,” Stiles replies, looking for any recognition at the word. 

“Kitsune?” The stranger frowns, calling for a water from the barkeep. “What’s that?” 

_ That would be strike one, buddy.  _

_ Doesn’t mean we can’t still have some fun, though. _

“It’s a Japanese word. Fox. And someone from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.” 

“I suppose that’s a fairly unlikely thing to call out during a scene.” 

Stiles raises his water, clinks it against the man’s in silent acknowledgement. He wants to play tonight, after all, even something small. And none of his regular play partners had been available. Besides, sometimes the thought of fresh meat is exciting; learning a partner’s likes and dislikes, learning what makes them go under and what brings them up, and what kind of aftercare they prefer and what kind of persona they like Stiles to adopt. It’s all part of the fun for Stiles. 

And sure, it’s a low-key way to search for his soulmate, but that quest was sent to the back burner just as soon as Stiles learned how much fun the kink community was. 

In a way, he’d always be grateful to his soulmate, even if he never finds them, because his words are what led him here. Part-owner (! Still a crazy thought to Stiles that anyone is trusting him to be part of any business) of a kink club at twenty-eight. A well-known and respected Dom in the community. He’d made a name for himself here, and a good reputation, by teaching kink classes and bringing in experts from other areas. And a research librarian by day to pay the bills, to boot, because who’s great at turning coping mechanisms into viable careers? This guy. 

He falls into an easy banter with the stranger, Kevin, about likes and dislikes, but it becomes clear fairly quickly that Kevin thinks he’s a sub, and that’s strikes two and three. They could maybe have some fun vanilla sex, but that’s not what Stiles is looking for tonight. 

“I’m going to make the rounds, Isaac.” He slides his water glass to the bartender, who gives him a small nod. 

“Packed house tonight.” 

“Must be that two-for-one coupon I put in the papers,” Stiles jokes, though they both know the influx is due to the latest 50 Shades movie being released. They always see a peak of newbies after one of those, and it always requires all hands on deck. 

Isaac gives him a mocking salute before turning back to his work, and Stiles begins to walk the club, spinning his keys in his fingers to satisfy his fidgeting habit. He checks in with each dungeon monitor personally, pleased that none of them have any disturbances to report. The public play area is equally drama-free, though certainly not in the scintillating spanking scene happening in one corner. All’s quiet, kind of, in the private play areas, but Stiles doesn’t hear any safe words being ignored or any other signs of trouble. He stops and chats with some regulars about an upcoming rope workshop, and listens to their suggestions about specialty nights. All-in-all, it’s a fairly typical night at the club, the only disappointment being the fact that he struck out on play partners. 

He’s moved back to the open play area, watching the spanking work up to a crescendo, when a commotion draws his eye. 

“Cora,” a man half-whispers, half-yells, ducking into the public play area from the bar. He freezes, eyes wide at the scene unfolding, and Stiles figures he’s a newbie, too. 

Except then he sees something that always tears at his soul, just a little, and that’s the fear of a sub slipping into subdrop. The man drops to his knees, face white as he takes a submissive pose, cowering in front of the Domme that’s working a paddle on her sub’s beautiful red behind. 

Stiles double checks the scene, but everything is fine, there. No one has called for a stop, nor made any signal, and the sub is groaning in ecstasy. 

But the man on his knees - he’s clearly not okay, and Stiles approaches, letting his footsteps fall deliberately so he won’t scare him. 

The man’s hands are clenched at his knees, his head still bowed, his cheeks growing ever paler. Stiles isn’t sure he’s taken a breath since he assumed the position. Whoever this man is, he’s been trained - and then triggered, which makes Stiles sick to his stomach. 

He kneels in front of the man, putting them on an equal level. Actually, the man is a little taller than him, even with his hunched back and submissive stance. He refuses to meet Stiles’ eyes, and he’s muttering to himself, though what he’s saying, Stiles can’t make out. 

“What’s your safe word?” Stiles blurts out, the words coming to him naturally at this point, and then, belatedly, “Color?” 

The man seems to freeze, then shudder, then shake his head as if trying to clear it. “What’s your safe word?” he says back in a mocking tone, though Stiles isn’t sure whether he’s mocking him or himself. 

He flinches at the sound of another hit.

“I have a quiet room I can offer. Some hot tea, maybe? Can I give you a hug? We have blankets in the quiet room, too, if you prefer that. Your skin looks a little clammy and I’m worried about subdrop.” Stiles’ need to provide after care for a hurt sub kicks into overdrive, and his verbal diarrhea blurts out of control. “At least let me get you out of here?” 

The man is looking at him with big, wide eyes, the pupils dilated in shock. He nods feebly, holding out his hands when Stiles offers to help pull him up. He leans into Stiles. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he whispers, about three seconds before Stiles grabs a trash can and holds it up for him to spew into. 

It’s that his personal space is closer, that’s why he takes the man there and not to the quiet room. He has all the supplies he needs, anyway, and helps the man into a chair. “My name is Stiles, and I’d like to be able to touch you to take care of you. May I do that? Just wiping your face off and stuff. I just want to help you feel better.” He bites his tongue, knowing that his tumult of words is always overwhelming to people who aren’t versed in Stiles-speak. 

“I- Um- Sure.” The man sits down on a spanking bench, then flinches when he seems to realize what he’s sitting on. 

“I’ve got a chair over here. Facing away from everything. Let me just put stuff away and get you a cloth, okay? And some water.” Stiles keeps up the soothing tone, the talking, as he moves in and out of his small bathroom. 

“Stiles?” 

He pokes his head back out, pleased that there seems to be a little more color in the man’s face. “Yeah?” 

“No, I mean, what kind of a name is Stiles?” 

Stiles lets out a little laugh. “One that’s way easier to pronounce than my first name. What can I call you?” 

He drags another chair over away from his kink setup and hands a glass of water off, then gently wipes at the man’s face. The man closes his eyes at the touch, but it’s not from relaxation. There are little lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth that betray how tense he is. 

“Derek,” he replies eventually. “Thanks for, um- I’m not weak, or something.” 

“Having a trigger doesn’t make you weak. Everyone has something. You should see me when I see a spider. And like, I know a lot of people  _ say _ they’re afraid of spiders but they’re not the ones who’ve done the research on just how likely spider bites are and all of the complications from improper care and the possibilities of paralysis or death or-” 

“You talk a lot.” 

Stiles laughs again, self-deprecating, but appreciative. “I like to fill up the empty spaces, because they make me nervous. I’m sorry that you were triggered here. Unfortunately there’s often something of that nature going on in the play area so it might be best to avoid it in the future.” 

Derek takes a drink of water and scoffs. “Oh, believe me, I have every intention of avoiding it in the future. I wasn’t ever planning on coming here, but Cora-” He sits upright, shoving the half-full water glass back at Stiles. “Um, thanks. I need to get back to Cora. I’m better now.” 

Stiles stands as Derek does, so he’s there to catch him when Derek wobbles. “Your blood sugar is probably still out of whack. I’ve got some candy stashed in here somewhere, and who’s Cora? Is she in danger? We rarely get trouble here. I like to run a nice, drama-free club.” 

“Cora’s my little sister, and this was all her idea. She wasn't going to come out without anyone, and I convinced her to bring me, because I have experience, and- because I don’t want her to get hurt.” Derek makes a move for the door again. “Look, I’m sure this is a very nice place but the kink scene is full of predators and Cora’s inexperienced, and I need to find her.” 

Ignoring the inaccurate 'predators' comment for now, Stiles hands a chocolate bar over to Derek, then takes his hand and leads him out of his private rooms. “Come with me. I’m sure she’s fine, but it’ll be faster if we just go to the security room ourselves. I’ve got cameras in all of the public places, and if she’s not just fine in one of those areas, then we can panic, okay? And eat that. Please,” he adds belatedly. 

“I’m not being overprotective,” Derek mutters defensively behind him. 

“Didn’t say you were,” Stiles murmurs back. “This way." He uses a key card to swipe himself into a small room buzzing with equipment. "Hey, Danny.” He nods at Danny Mahealani, working the security cameras with attention. 

“Nice catch with that guy earl- oh, um. Hey, guy from earlier.” Danny’s cheeks darken, looking at Derek, and he turns back to Stiles. “What can I help with, boss?”

“Derek, Danny, Danny, Derek. Derek’s looking for his sister.” Stiles moves out of the way, indicating a seat next to Danny in front of the cameras. He watches as Danny helps Derek scroll through them on the big screen one-by-one, and he’s surprised when his fingers are drawn to the nape of Derek’s neck, to play with the dark, whispy hair there. He draws back right before contact, obviously. He doesn’t have consent, and besides, it’s obvious Derek has trauma. 

“There she- is.” Derek pauses, frowning. “Just fine.” 

Stiles leans over, peering over Danny’s shoulder to see a pretty young woman, ensconced on one of the couches, watching a bondage scene and talking animatedly with the Dom. 

“Do you want to stay here, keep an eye on her?” Stiles asks Derek quietly. 

Derek’s eyes meet his, searching for something. “Can I?” 

“Yeah, of course. Danny, can you take over my spot as dungeon monitor for now? I haven’t been back to the bar for a bit.” 

“You got it, boss.” With a mock salute - really, he's going to have to talk to his employees - Danny’s up and out, and Stiles is seated in his warm chair, watching the rest of the monitors while Derek watches over Cora. 

“It’s creepy, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“I guess it depends on your relationship with your sister.” 

“Yeah, she’ll think it’s creepy.” Derek clicks away, brings up another monitor like Danny had shown him. Stiles reaches over and sets the monitors to run through the big screen in a timed sequence. 

“Are you going to be okay if a punishment scene comes up?” 

“I will be if I don’t look.” Derek turns his chair away from the monitors, facing Stiles. He has a broody countenance that Stiles can’t help but find attractive. “This okay?” 

“It’s fine with me. I know it’s hard to resist this really, really, really, ridiculously good looking face.” He grins, so Derek knows he’s joking, but Derek just stares at him. “Zoolander? The movie?” 

“I’m more of a book person.” 

“...Fair enough.” 

Derek plays with the leather bindings on his First Words bracer, the brooding intensifying on his face. “Why’d you name this place ‘What’s your safe word?’ anyway? Seems like a weird name for a club.” 

“It is, and we go by Safeword mostly. And, because I have a terrible sense of humor.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Stiles lifts his bracered arm. “They’re my First Words. They’re why I got into this whole thing.” 

They’ve already met, so it’s not like Derek will be able to use his First Words against him or anything. And still, it’s not until Derek’s dumb-struck expression that he  _ remembers. _ Derek’s lips, mocking, yes, but forming “What’s your safe word?” And hey, tone is never implied for First Words. He looks down at Derek’s bracer, but Derek’s holding his arm protectively against his chest, the Words resting under the bracer against his heart. Like his arm is broken and he has to cradle it until he can get help. The bile in Stiles’ stomach rises again. 

Instead of saying anything, he just undoes the ties on his bracer and slips it off. His skin is a little musty from the long day of wearing it, and it feels good to let it breathe again. There they are, the blocky little black letters of his First Words. Derek’s eyes are wide on his pale, exposed skin, but he’s still protecting his own. Stiles gives a little shrug, like it doesn’t matter that Stiles can be vulnerable with Derek but not the other way around - because truly, it doesn’t matter. There’s something in Derek’s eyes that makes Stiles want to be vulnerable. 

Derek meets his gaze again. “Tell me what you meant. About how you got into this whole thing.” 

Stiles settles back in his chair, giving the security cameras a thorough glance before turning back to Derek. “I have major ADHD. Like. I made it through school on a wish and a prayer and a legally binding IEP that my dad made sure was enforced. Oh, and meds. One of the things I have the attention span for is research. Give me a topic, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know within twenty-four hours. Most likely because I’ve sacrificed my night’s sleep to do so. That’s why I’m a librarian.” 

Derek takes in his outfit, leaning heavy on the black leather, and gives Stiles a small smile for the first time that evening.  _ “You’re _ a librarian.” 

“I look incredible in tiny glasses and a tight blouse, I’ll have you know.” 

Derek makes a choking sound, then looks surprised. The same surprise touches Stiles’ heart when he realizes it was Derek’s attempt at laughter. 

“So, research. I was all bound and determined to totally ignore my First Words but then they seemed so unique that I had to do research on them. What even is a safe word? I was totally vanilla. So that led me to the kink community, and as soon as I started  _ there, _ I was a goner. Now I have another thing that I can concentrate on without feeling like my brain is pulling me a thousand different directions. When I’m Domming someone, my focus is totally on them. Their happiness, their pleasure, making their experience perfect. It’s so- peaceful seems like the wrong word, considering how often it’s absolutely not, but… peaceful is what I’m going to go with. So I got really into the kink scene, and I pitched the club idea to my friend Lydia, and, well. She’s actually the owner, I’m just the manager.” 

“So you manage this place  _ and _ have a full-time day time job.” 

“Yeah, I don’t really sleep? Haven’t really been able to since my mom died. I know it’s not healthy but.” Stiles gives a little shrug. “Lots of things aren’t healthy. At least I’m not on drugs or whatever.” 

Derek watches him, wary, then closes his eyes for a long enough beat to breathe in and out calmly. Very slowly, he starts to work at the bindings on his bracer. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” he murmurs. 

“What?” 

“I think you might be my soulmate,” Derek replies, letting the bracer slip off his arm. 

_ What’s your safe word? _ appears in a tidy scrawl that Stiles immediately recognizes as his own. Twin feelings of shock and an absolute correctness flow through Stiles’ body. His own wide eyes drift up to Derek’s sad ones. “Two roads?” Stiles asks for clarification. 

“Two paths. Two outcomes. Yours, and mine. Brought to the same conclusion. And here we are.” Derek’s face looks tortured. 

Stiles wants to pull Derek into his arms, to see what he feels like there. Right now, it feels like a part of him is just aching to feel Derek there. With him, around him, in him. Everywhere. But two roads. Stiles, troubled, yes, but ultimately happy, contented. Which means…

“I like research, too. That’s why I’m a book person. And now I’m a PI. When I first got my words, I looked into them as well. And I found...Kate.” 

The utter hatred with which Derek says the name is all Stiles needs to hate her as well. 

“I was young, and stupid. Or at least easily manipulated. And Kate said the Words, so I thought…” Derek gestures weakly between the two of them. “I still don’t know how she got them. She seduced me. Told me that if she trusted me then I’d believe her about the Words. How I didn’t need to see hers to really, truly believe in us. She was my Domme, and she was my intro to the kink scene.” 

After a few more quiet moments, Stiles murmurs, “And she abused you.” 

“Almost textbook, really. Physical, mental. She was a predator.” 

Stiles’ hands clench in his lap. “You got away.” 

“My sisters helped me. She came after me. There was… a fire. She died in it.” Derek’s mouth makes a flat line. 

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest. He knows there must be much more to the story, but he has enough to know one thing: “I’m so glad you got out.” 

Derek looks back, finding his sister, his whole demeanor seeming to be soothed when he finds her safe and sound still. “I’m probably not what you were expecting.” 

Stiles shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting anything, not really. Two roads, same destination.” He traces over his own First Words, then lifts his hand. “May I?” 

Derek hesitates, but nods. Stiles slides his left forearm against Derek’s, clasping below the elbow. He can feel Derek’s life pulse, the warmth of his skin, the slight tickling of his arm hair. They breathe together like that for a few seconds, eyes on each other.

“Can I travel your road with you?” Stiles whispers. 

With the smallest of smiles, Derek nods. 


	2. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek and their Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, by popular request, and because I wanted to, I revisited these guys. :)
> 
> And with Derek POV now

**\--The Present, 5 years after the last chapter--**

"Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes, sir.” The words fall easily from Derek’s lips, and he almost wants to cry at how good they feel. How good it feels to be kneeling in front of Stiles, his hands clasped - though not bound, they’re not there,  _ yet -  _ behind him. That  _ yet _ is his hope.

 

**\--First Hug--**

“Can I travel your road with you?” 

Derek’s mind hitches as his fingers tighten their grip on Stiles’ arm. He can feel the connection between them, the fate magic working through them, as he nods. 

“I’d like to be your friend, if you don’t mind...this.” Stiles gestures toward the panel of monitors showing various rooms of the kink club. “I mean. You never have to come back here if you don’t want. We could meet up at Starbucks or something. Or I could cook you dinner at my place. Or we could go for a walk. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

The tumult of Stiles’ words make him want to smile again, and laugh, like there are little streaks of sun finally breaking through the darkness that has been his life. “I- uh, that would be good. To meet not here, I mean. I’d like that.” 

Stiles sort of cough-laughs, then wipes at his eyes. “I can’t believe- I mean. God, I’m such a sap. Like I spent most of my life telling myself that I’d never find you and that would be okay, and here you are, and you somehow don’t hate me even though you have every right to avoid me. I just- just give me a second.” He sniffles, and somehow seeing this Dom be so vulnerable melts everything inside of Derek. 

_ If I’d known this is what it felt like, I’d have seen right through Kate, _ he thinks, and the thought has him frowning once again. He squeezes Stiles’ arm and releases it, pushing to his feet. Still, he takes out his phone and unlocks it. “Text yourself so I have your number, okay?” 

Stiles’ movements are a flurry of activity that makes Derek want to laugh, which sets him to frowning once more. 

Kate had been...enticing. Forbidden, almost. She’d been formidable, and penetrating, and she’d taken all of him. 

Stiles… Stiles cried because he found Derek.

“Can I hug you?” Stiles asks as he hands his phone back. 

_ Stiles  _ _ cried _ _ because he found me.  _ “I- Uh. Yes. Please.” 

Stiles stands, wrapping his arms around Derek. It’s warm, and he doesn’t try to cop a feel or touch anywhere Derek hadn’t given permission to. Nothing beyond the parameters of a normal hug. 

It feels- glorious, is the only word Derek can think of. Like he wants to never stop touching Stiles ever again. From the little noise Stiles makes, he can tell Stiles is feeling the same thing. 

It’s that feeling that has him easing away, has him heading toward the door. “Will you keep an eye on my sister? I’ll text her I’m leaving, but...” 

“Of course. Does that mean I can pull her aside and lecture her about bringing in someone with obvious triggers and then leaving them behind? Because family means no one gets left behind, Derek.” Stiles lips quirk, and he gives Derek a wink. 

“It’s not her fault, mostly. I insisted. I- I thought maybe I was over it. But I’m not.” 

“That’s okay.” Stiles’ fingers brush over his own First Words as he continues to smile at Derek. “I’ll walk you out. I can take you the back way, make sure you don’t get triggered again, okay?” He holds out his hand. 

“Thanks,” Derek murmurs as he takes it, that warm feeling filling him up again. 

 

**\--The Present--**

“You’re so good for me, Derek.” Stiles’ fingers drift through his hair, tumbling it.

The thing is, it’s not easy for Derek to believe. After Kate, after he so easily fell under Kate’s sway, believed the horrible things she said about him, believed that wanting this, wanting to sub, made him a wicked human being with disgusting wants that needed to be beaten out of him...after all of that, he’d steeled his heart against anything any Dom could ever say to him again. Derek hopes that someday, in the future, his first inclination when Stiles praises him won’t be, “Oh, he’s just saying that to manipulate me.” 

But then Stiles murmurs, “I love you so much,” as he leans down to kiss Derek’s forehead, and that far off someday seems just a little closer. 

 

**\--First Kiss--**

“You didn’t!” Stiles lets his head fall back to the sofa, cackling. 

“The guy shouldn’t have been skipping out on his custody,” Derek replies with a shrug, though the corners of his lips tip up. He’s come to love this time, this soulmate time that they’ve set aside each week just for each other. And sure, at first it was mostly because of the whole thing about how soulmates being near each other can lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety, help with depression, the whole nine yards. But Derek has come to love this time just so he can have this: Stiles’ feet in his lap, Derek painting his toenails a bright pink as he regails Stiles with whatever crazy story happened to him that week as a PI. 

They’re full of Thai food, fat and sassy, his mom would’ve said. And Derek’s having a hard time remembering when he’s had a better time in recent years. 

“And he’s going to pay up now?” 

“Oh yeah.” 

“And I bet you didn’t even charge your client, you big softie.” 

Derek just blushes, and Stiles pokes his stomach with his toes. “Big softie, I knew it.” 

“Hey, watch it, you’re not dry yet.” 

“You know, if I didn’t know about the whole ‘Hales being independently wealthy’ thing, I’d say you run your PI business like you’re trying to run it into the ground.” 

Derek gives a small shrug, still blushing. “The corporate stuff more than makes up for the little side jobs I take so that a single mom can get the money she needs to buy her kid school clothes.” He blows on Stiles’ toes, which makes Stiles laugh, and moves his feet to the coffee table. “You’re all set.” 

“Thank you. Emily’s going to get a kick out of them.” For all intents and purposes, Emily is Stiles’ niece, though not by blood or marriage. But Scott is basically Stiles’ brother, so yeah.

“Always happy to help.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles says again, automatically brushing a kiss over Derek’s cheek, and then freezing, eyes wide. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask, I’m the motherfucking worst- oh my  _ god-” _

Derek jolts when he realizes Stiles is having a mini-meltdown over  _ kissing _ him. His cheek, no less. “Whoa, hey, Stiles, stop freaking out.” 

“No, I should have-” 

“You’re making me feel like a leper.” 

“You’re not a leper, you’re-” Stiles stops, deflated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Or any way. Any way that isn’t a safe, happy feeling.” 

“I don’t mind if you kiss my cheek,” Derek says, because he truly doesn’t. Kate never would have kissed his cheek, anyway, and besides, it’s  _ Stiles. _ “Listen, I know consent is your paramount thing, and I think that’s great, but I give you permission not to self-flagellate over this, unless that’s your thing.” 

It’s a weak attempt at a joke, and Stiles gives him a small smile, but it converts back into a concerned frown almost immediately. “You’re sure you’re okay?” 

Frustrated, words spill out of Derek’s mouth. This almost never happens; he had always been a circumspect person,  and his experience with Kate only made him more so. “Yes, Stiles, I’m fine. You didn’t attack me. It was a gesture of kindness. I’m capable of telling the difference, you know. Besides, why would I be upset at you kissing me? Like I haven’t been wanting to kiss you for weeks-” 

He manages to cut himself off, but not before that vital confession slips out. And it’s not like it isn’t true. Stiles  _ has _ been entering his thoughts more and more recently. Stiles in various states of dress. Stiles’ lips brushing over his. Stiles’ cheek pressed against his own. 

“You, um, you want to run that one by me again?” Stiles asks, sitting up straighter. 

Derek licks his lips unconsciously. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Oh, fuck  _ yes.” _

Derek’s lips are tipping up again, that little smile Stiles always brings out of him, as he leans down to brush their lips together. Stiles makes no move on his own - because Stiles won’t, unless Derek invites him, he’s made that abundantly clear over the last year - but Derek can’t help slipping a hand behind Stiles’ head and drawing them closer together. 

When he pulls back, Stiles’ eyes are still closed, and Derek’s hand is still cupping the back of his head. The thought flits through his mind that this scenario, his Dom allowing him this much control, would never have happened with Kate. The fact that Stiles doesn’t appear too perturbed to have given up that control says mountains about him. 

Derek’s not so sure about his own feelings, though. He likes that he controlled the kiss - and yet he craves going under, and being taken care of by someone as sweet and loving as Stiles obviously is. By his soulmate, his real, actual soulmate. 

“I should get going,” Derek murmurs instead. 

Stiles springs back, nodding. “Yeah, it’s getting late, and the fog. And they said it might get below freezing tonight and you know that freezing fog just creates black ice and everyone goes way too fast and doesn’t respect nature, you know, and seriously, it’s not your driving I’m worried about, it’s everyone else-” 

“Stiles.” 

“Right.” Stiles offers him one of his beaming grins. “Next week, same bat time, same bat channel?” 

“You don’t want to talk about what just happened?” 

“I will do whatever you want to do about what just happened,” Stiles blurts out immediately. 

“What if what I want to do is put kissing on the table, maybe?” 

“I’d, uh. Really like that. I’d really like to do that again. And again.” 

Derek laughs, unable to stop himself from leaning over to give Stiles another quick kiss. “Okay then.” 

“I’m probably going to keep asking for consent.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“And I expect you to be truthful, or just, like, push me away if you don’t want to be kissed and I forgot to ask again, or whatever, okay?” 

“I expect the same of you, you know.” 

This time, for the first time, and yes, Derek does mark the minute, Stiles leans to him, and kisses the apple of his cheek, and his nose, and his forehead, before sweeping a kiss over his lips. “Agreed. You should get going. Be safe. I love you.” 

Stiles has said those three words to him before, but always with a platonic tone. Now, though, with Stiles’ lips still an inch away from his, they have a weight to them they haven’t had before. “I’ll text you when I get home. I love you, too.” 

Derek hurries out before he can change his mind about staying the night.

 

**\--The Present--**

Stiles kneels in front of him, brushing their lips together again. “I’m going to blindfold you now, Der.” 

Derek gives Stiles one last look before letting his eyes close. He feels the silk of the blindfold slip over his eyes, and falling into his headspace is a bit like slipping slowly and peacefully under the water of a warm bath. He feels tense muscles relax, hears Stiles’ praise as his shoulders loosen and fall. 

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” Stiles presses a kiss on the silk between his eyebrows. “You’re safe.” 

 

**\--First Bad Day--**

There’s an incessant knocking at his door, steadily growing more insistent and worried. Eventually, Stiles’ voice accompanies it. “Derek? Are you okay?” 

It’s when Stiles says something about calling the cops because he’s worried that Derek has had an aneurysm and collapsed and is unconscious and, and, and- that gets Derek off the couch and pulling open the door to his loft. 

“Der! Hi! Um. Hi. Um. You’re okay.” Stiles is obviously taking in his grungy shirt with holes in the sides that could make new head holes if Derek wanted to start a new fashion, and his favorite worn, comfy sweats. Or maybe he’s looking at the circles under his eyes. 

Whatever it is, Derek just grunts, and heads back to the couch, the TV on some mindless nature documentary about reintroducing wolves to Yellowstone. He collapses, tucking the pillow under his head again. “Did you need something?” 

“Nope.” Stiles walks somewhere out of his sight, and then he hears the kitchen sink turning on and off. Thirty seconds later, and there’s Stiles again, pressing a glass of water into his hand. “Here, drink this.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Water isn’t going to help.” 

“Water always helps. Unless you’re drowning, in which case, add less water. But. Water always helps.” 

“Doesn’t make me feel less worthless,” Derek mutters, even as he takes a sip. He realizes he has forgotten to drink anything - or eat - all day. He’s fairly sure he’s been zoning out to the same documentary on repeat for hours. Begrudgingly, he admits that the water tastes good, and drinks some more. 

“If I press food on you, do you think you could eat it?” 

Derek picks at one of the holes in his shirt. “You’re not supposed to see me like this.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not pretty, and I suck right now. You should probably just leave me alone.” 

“Do you want me to cite all of the scientific studies I’ve read that back up how good your soulmate’s touch is for you on a bad day? Because I can.” Stiles threads his fingers through Derek’s. Again, begrudgingly, Derek has to admit that some small part of him feels soothed. “I’m here for the good days and the bad days. Or I’d like to be. I don’t need pretty.” 

“You deserve pretty.” 

“I deserve you. And have you seen you, by the by? Very pretty.” 

Derek can’t help but laugh, just a little, but he sobers quickly. “Seriously, you’ll have a way better day if you just go off by yourself.” 

“Maybe. I guess I’d rather have a slightly less good day if it means I can maybe help make yours slightly less bad.” 

  
  


Later, when Stiles’ front is pressed to his back, spooning him perfectly as they start to drift off to sleep in Derek’s bed, Derek murmurs, “You could be here for all the days. The loft is plenty big.” 

“Are you serious?”

Derek clasps his hand in Stiles’ and presses it against his own stomach. “I guess you’re all right to have around on a bad day.” 

He feels Stiles’ snort against his neck, and then Stiles presses a kiss there. “I’d love to live here with you.” 

Derek turns his head just enough to kiss Stiles’ cheek. “Cool.” 

Stiles squeezes him in a hug. “Yeah. Um.” His fingers worry the skin between Derek’s. “Um. I have bad days too, okay? Well, more like bad nights.” 

“You don’t sleep.” 

“I mean, sometimes I do. It’s better than when I was going through puberty and everything was out of whack.” 

“Well. I guess I’d rather have a slightly less good night if it means I can maybe help make yours slightly less bad.” Derek lets a small smile cross his lips as he parrots Stiles’ earlier words. 

“Turning my own words around on me, huh?” 

“If you don’t know that about me by now…” 

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, you’re right.” 

 

**\--The Present--**

Stiles’ lips are bruising against his as they make out. Derek’s not allowed to touch, not when his hands are ‘bound’ behind his back like this, even if they aren’t actually bound. If he’s good, Stiles will give him exactly what he wants. And it’s so easy to be good for Stiles, much easier than accepting his praise. 

When Stiles pulls back, they’re both out of breath, and Stiles just keeps murmuring love words, even as his voice gets farther away. 

“Open up that gorgeous mouth for me, baby.”

Derek can tell he’s standing now, and his blood sings in anticipation at what’s coming next. He lets his lower lip fall, looking up at where he presumes Stiles is. 

He’s rewarded almost right away with the thick head of Stiles’ cock pressing into his mouth. He lets out a pleased little grunt, opening his lips to take even more.

 

**\--First Orgasm--**

Derek blinks awake, and his first thought is that he’s exhausted. They’d spent the day moving Stiles in, carrying the boxes up three flights of stairs. Of course his soulmate is a damn librarian. 

Showing Stiles the library room he’d put together for him, wall-to-ceiling bookshelves and big cushy chairs next to one of the best windows in the loft - well, Stiles’ delight had meant everything. He’d loved watching Stiles collapse into one of the chairs and just grin.  _ “It’s perfect. And this means I get to buy more books,” _ he’d added with a shit-eating grin. 

Because he’s exhausted, Derek’s not really sure why he’s awake. It’s only when he realizes that Stiles’ arms are no longer around him, and the bed is cold beside him, that he figures out Stiles isn’t there with him. 

Groaning from sore muscles - getting older is the fucking worst - Derek pads out in search of his soulmate/boyfriend. Just the word  _ boyfriend _ warms him up a little. Stiles isn’t hard to find - he’s sitting out on the fire escape, staring up at what he can see of the stars, a lit joint hanging from his fingers. It all clicks for Derek - he knows Stiles uses weed sometimes to help him relax when sleep isn’t coming. As Derek watches, he inhales a hit, lets it sit, and smoothly blows the smoke out of his nose. 

“We need to never let an impressionable pre-teen watch you do that, they’ll be hooked on smoking for life,” Derek says as he slides out of the window and onto the bench seat next to Stiles. 

Stiles laughs, then kisses his cheek. “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“Missed you.” 

“Aww.” 

“Shut up.” Derek lets their mouths slide together, tasting a bit of the smoke lingering on Stiles’ lips. He sweeps his hand through Stiles’ hair. “Is it helping?” 

Stiles shrugs as he takes another hit. He offers the joint up, but Derek declines, so he scrapes the burnt tip off and packs it away. “The move has me all keyed up, I guess.” 

“Regrets?” Derek asks as they make their way back inside and settle on the couch. He pulls Stiles into his lap and drapes a blanket over the both of them. 

“No. Just, like. I’m always weird about new places. My parents never moved. My bedroom at my dad’s house still has my height marked into the door jam. College, sure, I moved around, but that’s forever ago. Just. Have to get used to it, is all. Have to figure out all the exits. Know my strategy for the zombie apocalypse, and all that.”

“That’s why I keep a baseball bat next to the bed.” Stiles makes a needy little noise and Derek laughs. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just imagining you in a baseball uniform, watching you hit one out of the park. God, I bet your ass looks amazing.” 

Derek snorts, and nuzzles into Stiles’ neck. “I played in high school, you know.” 

“Ah, god, jailbait Derek. Tell me there are pictures.” Stiles lets Derek have better access to the sensitive flesh under his ear. 

Derek feels Stiles’ cock grow hard against his stomach, though Stiles hasn’t seemed to notice yet. Every time Stiles gets too excited, he seems to hit some self-imposed boundary that Derek certainly hadn’t agreed to, and if Stiles hasn’t noticed, Derek’s not going to point it out. 

Stiles’ whole body stiffens next, though, and he pulls back, scooting off Derek’s lap, running a hand over his face. “God, sorry, sometimes when I smoke I get horny. I’ll just go jack off in the shower or something.” 

Stiles moves to get up, but Derek reaches up for his hand, pulls him back down to the couch gently. “I don’t mind if you’re hard, Stiles.” 

“No?” He stops trying to leave. “It’s not, um. Triggering, or anything?” 

“I need you to trust me to tell you that it is or isn’t.” 

Stiles swallows, then nods, solemn. “I’m- I’m sorry.” 

“With Kate, I- one of the ways she maintained discipline was to keep my cock caged. For days, weeks. She didn’t-  _ want _ me to use it, to get hard, ever. I disgusted her.” Derek swallows, closing his eyes against the memories. “You- obviously you’re not disgusted by me.” 

Stiles’ hands sweep his bangs back. “I’m so very, very not.” 

It makes Derek laugh, just a little. “You don’t have to go jerk off in the shower. I could...help?” 

He lets Stiles kiss him gently, lets Stiles press kisses to his forehead and his cheeks. “That would be amazing...but I’m not sober. I mean, I guess I’m sober enough to know I’m not sober, but. Remind sober me to give you full approval for the future.” 

Derek just brings Stiles into a straddle over his lap and hugs him to his chest. He rubs over his back in a steady, soothing motion. “Are you feeling tired at all?” 

“Mmm, maybe if you keep doing that.” Stiles' voice does indeed seem to be slurring with sleep.  


“I keep the baseball bat by the bed in case of intruders, undead or otherwise. There’s a fire safety inspection twice a year that checks out the escape, but I can show you how to lower and raise the ladder tomorrow so you’ll know. There’s an emergency kit with water and food and stuff under the sink in the kitchen if there’s an earthquake or any other crisis that requires it. Oh, and flashlights, candles, and matches in the kitchen, bathroom, and inside the coffee table behind you.” All of this, Derek delivers in a low, calming tone, and it’s a delight to watch Stiles’ eyelids slowly start to drift closed. 

 

When he wakes, it’s to Stiles stroking through his hair, gently, like he’s a puppy. It feels too nice, and all at once, he realizes they’re both hard - morning wood - between them. 

“Morning,” Stiles murmurs, nuzzling against the shadow of his beard. 

“Morning.” His hands slip down Stiles’ back, over his ass, as he unconsciously moves them closer together. Their cocks brush against each other through their pajama pants, and Stiles groans. 

“Hey guess what?”

“What?” Derek says, sucking a mark into Stiles’ collar bone. 

“I’m sober.” Stiles bites at his earlobe. “And I really want to touch my dick to your dick. You down?” 

Derek almost laughs at the informalness of it all. Apparently Stiles’ hesitation is gone. “I’m down.” 

Stiles grins, pushing at their pajama bottoms until he can get his hand wrapped around both of their dicks. He licks his palm to ease the slide, the gathers precum to help even more. 

“Oh, fuck- Stiles-” 

Stiles smiles savagely. “Believe me, I have a lot of experience jerking off.” 

The pressure of Stiles’ hand feels amazing, as does Stiles’ stiff, hot cock pressed against his. It’s some ridiculously short amount of time before Derek is gasping, arching into Stiles’ hand. He feels the orgasm sweep through him as he spills cum all over Stiles and their pants. Stiles bites into Derek’s collar bone and comes right after. 

“Welcome home,” Derek growls in Stiles’ ear. 

 

**\--The Present--**

Derek can get lost sucking Stiles’ cock. He loves it like this, not being able to see heightening all of his other senses until they’re filled with Stiles: Stiles’ little breathy moans when he swirls his tongue just the right away; the way Stiles tastes in his mouth; the way he’s restrained from going any farther than Stiles will let him go. 

It’s what allows Derek to  _ let _ go, to give himself completely over to Stiles’ care. This is the part of Derek that can trust Stiles implicitly, and as soon as he feels it, he practically goes boneless, utter relaxation overtaking his limbs as he slides completely into deep subspace. 

“So good for me, so precious, Der.” Stiles voice echoes through his head. 

 

**\--First Negotiations--**

He feels Stiles behind him before Stiles slides a hand over his shoulder. Derek looks up, but Stiles shakes his head, giving him a small smile before looking back up at the scene currently going on. 

It’s a shibari scene, the bottom wrapped beautifully in bright blue ropes. It makes Derek’s skin tingle, in both fear and desire. 

Stiles’ hand travels down his chest, then his stomach, as he leans over to whisper in his ear, “What’s your safe word?” 

Derek lets out a little laugh, leaning back to nip at Stiles’ neck. “What’s your safe word?” 

“Boyd and Erica are here to take over if you want to take off.” 

“Go home with the sexiest Dom in here? I guess.” 

Stiles snorts, pulling Derek to his feet. He turns a corner away from the scene, then presses Derek to the wall and kisses him senseless. “I love you.” 

“You’re legally obligated to, now, you know,” he retorts, flashing the ring on his finger as they head to the exit.

“Hey, I’d love you even if an EMP wiped out all of the records of our marriage.” 

“An EMP? What have you been researching, and how much is it going to cost in refurb on the loft?” 

“Nothing. But I am going to need more books.” 

“Of course you are.” 

“Hey, don’t forget, you’re legally obligated to love my books.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

They laugh as they walk, then let the silence of the street at night carry them for a bit. Eventually, Stiles squeezes his hand. “I saw you watching me with Veronica tonight.” 

“You did a good job with her.” 

“Look, Der, I just want to say - thank you. Thank you for being cool with me still owning the club, still Domming. I can’t explain it, I just - it just helps, you know?” 

“I know,” Derek whispers. “I miss that, sometimes.” 

Stiles stops them on the corner, looking up at Derek with a dumbfounded expression. “You do?” 

“I- yeah. Sometimes. I miss going under. I’d never subject a Dom to the landmine field that are my triggers, though.” 

“What if it was a Dom that really, really, really, really, really loved you?” 

Derek leans over, placing a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “Then I’d tell him that I’d want to subject him even less.” 

“Listen, Der, it’s no pressure. Obviously, what we have right now is working. But I’d like to be able to take you under safely. Let you play again, and feel good. I’ve got an entire file of research on the intersections of trauma and kink-” 

“Of course you do.” 

“Are you mad?” 

“No.” Derek sighs, reassesses his feelings. “No,” he says, more strongly. “No. I just- what if I disappoint you? What if- this taints what we have, taints it with  _ her.”  _

“The latter, that’s a valid concern, okay? But you’re not going to disappoint me. I love you, no matter how it turns out.” Stiles pulls him in for a hug, and Derek willingly goes. “If you want this to happen, I swear to you, we can make it happen.” 

Derek lets a breath in and out, letting Stiles’ scent soothe him. “I want to go down for you. You’re the only one I trust.” 

Stiles squeezes their hands together. “Then we’ll figure it out.” 

 

**\--The Present--**

“God, you’re so beautiful like this.” 

Stiles voice comes to him in the dark like a blanket. He feels warm, and safe, and comforted. “S’it over?” he slurs, not keeping the disappointment out of his voice. 

Stiles laughs a little, hugging him close. Derek slowly realizes that they actually are wrapped up in a blanket, in bed. He has no idea how Stiles moves him around when he’s in subspace and absolutely useless. “Depends on what you mean by over, because we still have all the fun aftercare parts left. Like me hugging you close and telling you how beautiful you are over and over.” 

“Mmm, I like those parts, too.” Derek yawns, and his jaw cracks. “I meant, did you cum?”

“Oh, yeah, that happened too. I accidentally got some in your hair, sorry. We’ll take a shower later and I’ll get it for you.” 

Derek can’t feel anything but bemused and satisfied. “Good.” 

“You did such a good job, Der.” 

Derek snuggles into Stiles’ arms more closely. “You did, too. I love you.” 

“Mmm,” Stiles hums, burrowing his face in Derek’s neck. 

Derek smiles as he rubs over the tattoo on Stiles’ right wrist - the one in the same handwriting as his First Words. The one that matches the tattoo on Derek’s own right wrist, in Stiles’ handwriting. 

_ One Road _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
